


Hope, Faith and Love

by starsandsea



Category: The Silmarillion - Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-22
Updated: 2010-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsea/pseuds/starsandsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eönwë realizes too late that he loves Glorfindel. Can he hold onto hope after he has both lost him and been through the War of Wrath?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope, Faith and Love

**Author's Note:**

> Names are in Quenya, so Glorfindel = Laurefindil.
> 
> The first section starts just after the Rebellion and Doom of the Noldor.

1.

Eönwë furiously scrubbed at his shield. He was only cleaning it, he told himself. It was dirty and it would not do for the Herald of Manwë, the Captain of the Hosts of the Valar, to have a dirty shield. Any other reason he had for so utterly throwing himself into his work he refused to think about. That Laurefindil had... He scrubbed even harder.

He still had the rest of his armour to clean, his weapons, he had to completely check his chain mail and his tunics and cloaks...

A throat cleared behind him and he turned, seeing his twin sister, Ilmarë. He looked away from the pity and sorrow in her eyes, gazing unseeing at his shield. But she placed a hand upon his arm and he turned back to her. She just looked at him for a moment, before hugging him tightly. He wrapped his arms about her, feeling foolishly close to crying. He breathed in, smelling the scent of her; lavender and lilacs. Her long golden hair tumbled down her back. Like Laurefindil's...

Eönwë took a breath that was more of a sob. He was such a fool. He had not even realized what he had felt for him. He had known that he had loved Laurefindil, yes, but he thought it had just been the love they all, all the Maiar and Valar had for the Firstborn, the Eldar. Or that it was the love two friends had for each other. Not... not this. Not like he felt he would fall apart if he never saw his bright smile again.

Ilmarë carefully drew away from him and he took another deep breath, trying to smile. His twin hesitated for a moment, before withdrawing a rectangle of paper from the arm of her dress.

He looked at it questioningly, wondering if it was a message from Lord Manwë that needed to be delivered. Was he neglecting his duties that much? Ilmarë offered it to him and he took it, then froze when he saw his name written upon it, with handwriting he would always recognise.

He looked at his sister, stunned. She smiled sadly at him. "It was found in a trunk in Tirion. Everything is in such disarray... The rooms that are now... empty... are being given to others, so they are being tidied and most things are going into storage..."

She trailed off again, probably aware that he was not really listening. The letter was thick. Eönwë kept re-reading his name, over and over.

"Do you want me to stay?" Ilmarë was looking at him, worry clearly written on her face.

"I... I do not..." He looked at her helplessly. But his dear twin, she understood, as she always had.

She gently took the letter from him, carefully placing it upon a bench. "You can not read it with your hands as filthy as that."

Eönwë belatedly realized that his hands were filthy, stained with armour polish and dirt. His sister cleaned them for him, then thoroughly dried them. She led them to the bench, sat them both down upon it, then carefully gave him the letter again.

He took it from her, taking another deep breath, then opened it.

*****

Laurefindil had written of his fears, his hopes and dreams. Eönwë wondered if he had known, somehow, if he had had some foresight as to what was going to happen.

He spoke of Turucáno, of his oath to him, and of his duty. But most of all, Laurefindil had written of his love. Love for him, though he admitted he was certain that Eönwë would never return it.

He was weeping when he finally finished the letter, Ilmarë rubbing his back in comfort. He leaned into her, feeling drained. She whispered soft words that he did not hear into his ear, holding him tightly.

"He loves me," he whispered, not sure if he sounded despairing or exhilarated.

Ilmarë pulled away from him, cupping his face with her hands. "Of course he does."

He closed his eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling. She wiped them away, tenderly.

"Have hope, brother. Have hope in him. In your love. Hope that you will be reunited, one day."

Eönwë swallowed and nodded. Hope. Yes, he could have hope. He smiled, opening his eyes again. "Thank you, Ilmarë."

His sister smiled at him and kissed him gently on the cheek. "I had better start planning your wedding, then," she said with a wicked smile.

"Ilmarë!" He protested, sure he was blushing.

She just laughed at him, and after a moment he laughed with her, clutching Laurefindil's letter to his chest, heart filled with hope.

 

2.

Gondolin had fallen. The three words kept echoing around Eönwë's mind. Gondolin had fallen. The last free city of the Elves had been crushed by Morgoth's forces.

He sat, looking eastwards, atop the Pelóri, cruel winds battering at him, his silvery white hair billowing about his face. Snow blew about him, but he hardly noticed. Gondolin had fallen. It was Summer everywhere else. But this, this bleak mountain range, held in perpetual Winter matched the emptiness of his heart. He could not bear to be around people, around happy and rejoicing people. People who were full of hope, who had finally healed from the Rebellion.

Gondolin had fallen. And Laurefindil was... was... No! Eönwë's mind flinched away from the truth, from what had happened. That one of his Fallen Brother's had... What his beloved had suffered...

He bowed his head, breathing deeply. A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. He did not look up. "Leave me alone, Ilmarë," he whispered, voice rough with unshed tears, hardly able to hear himself over the roar of the winds.

But the hand upon his shoulder tightened and he felt his sister sit next to him, wrapping a cloak about them both, pulling it over their heads. The sound of the storm was quietened, but he still did not look up.

"You have been sitting up here for hours." Ilmarë spoke softly, concern and some disapproval clear in her voice.

Eönwë did not reply. He did not know what to say. His heart was torn to shreds.

Ilmarë was silent for a time. "He... You know he would not have regretted it."

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Of course he would not have." There was no way that Laurefindil would have just stood by, not while there was something he could have done. It just... was not who he was. And he knew that, he understood that, he would have done the same, but it did not stop him from raging at the unfairness of it.

Because Laurefindil, his beloved, was dead. He had fallen in combat with a Balrog and Eönwë did not know what to do.

"His fëa has gone to the Halls of Mandos," Ilmarë said, but Eönwë just shook his head.

His sister took his head in her hands, forcing him to look at her. The grief and sorrow in her eyes almost broke him, for she had always been fond Laurefindil, and he knew that she was hurting deeply too.

She just looked at him, before tightening her grip on his face, almost painfully so. "I still have hope. He _will_ be released from the Halls of Mandos, one day. And you _will_ be reunited. If I have to hope for the both of us, then so be it."

Eönwë stared at her, his dear beloved twin, and finally found himself breaking, great sobs tearing through his body as he fell apart. Ilmarë held him close and he knew that she was weeping as well. He clung to her as she rocked them both.

Maybe he did not have hope anymore. But he... He could not believe that he and his beloved would be separated forever. Ilmarë was keeping the hope for him. For all of them. And that would have to be enough.

 

3.

The War was finally over. Finally, Morgoth had been defeated and cast into the Void. It was over. But the cost had been staggering. Beleriand had been destroyed. _He_ had destroyed it. The land, the beloved land of the Eldar was broken.

Eönwë sat in his rooms, high on Taniquetil, where nothing had changed. Everything here was exactly as he had left it. But it did not feel like home anymore.

It was not like he had not seen war before - he was the Captain of the Hosts of the Valar, of course he had. But it had never seemed to be quite this terrible before. Maybe it was because the Eldar were involved. And being witness to their suffering....

He wondered, as he almost constantly had, since the start of the War, just how much Laurefindil had suffered. How much pain and agony he had endured, what Morgoth had done to him, through Laurefindil just having _dwelled_ in Beleriand...

The door to his rooms crashed open and Eönwë was instantly on his feet, hand on his sword, ready to draw it, for he was still wearing his armour. But before he could react in any other way, a body crashed into him and arms were flung around him.

"Eönwë! You are back!"

He closed his eyes, feeling his muscles slowly untense. Ilmarë. _Ilmarë._ He wrapped his arms about her. She still smelled of lavender and lilacs and now stardust. She must have been helping Lady Varda, he thought distantly. The greater part of him was clinging to his twin like a lifeline. She was holding him tightly, seemingly not feeling the pain she had to have been, since his armour was probably crushing her. His gore covered armour, he emended, closing his eyes even tighter.

"I have missed you so much, brother."

He did not know what to say. He did not... He was so tired.

Ilmarë pulled away from him and Eönwë reluctantly let her go, opening his eyes, not wanting her to see him, truly _see_ him. He looked away. At least he would not have to see her reaction then.

He was not used to feeling shame.

But Ilmarë, she just embraced him again, far more gently this time, as if he might break. He might have resented that once. But he did feel like he was going to break. Like he was going to fall apart.

His sister pulled away from him again, cupping his face with her hands, looking in his eyes, brushing his dirty hair away from his face. It was more grey than white or silver now. Washing his hair had not really been a priority.

He looked back at her tiredly. Guardedly. He should be getting changed. Readying himself for meeting with Lord Manwë to give his report on the War. Clothing himself in fine silks and velvets and jewels. Acting like nothing had changed. As if he had not. But he could not seem to muster up the energy.

And Ilmarë, she just placed a very gentle kiss on his forehead, then started to remove his armour for him. He might have made a noise of protest - she should not be acting like his squire, she was above that.

"I am your sister. Your twin. That gives me rights no one else has." The look in her eyes was fierce; her determination reminded him painfully of his own.

Eönwë remained silent until the last piece of armour was removed. "Do you still have hope, Ilmarë?"

He hardly recognized the voice as being his own. It was not the strong, confident sound he remembered. Now it just sounded hoarse. Broken. So many commands and orders had fallen from his lips in the last forty two years... So many had died because of his strategies, his plans, his actions.

He found himself wondering if he was truly any better than Morgoth.

"Stop it!" He flinched. "Just stop it! Stop thinking things like that! You are _not_. You _never_ could be."

Ilmarë's voice was harsh and he could see tears shining in her eyes. And now he had hurt her too. It was all he seemed to do lately. Hurt people. All the warriors under his command. Their families. Arda itself. And now his twin. Perhaps, he thought, it was a good thing Laurefindil was in the Halls of Mandos. At least he could not hurt him there.

Ilmarë wrapped her arms about him again, holding him tightly. And he clung to her, his entire world falling apart.

"Yes. Yes, I still have hope. And I will carry on hoping for you forever, if you need me to." Her voice trembled slightly, but the certainty of it... the strength... It took his breath away.

Eönwë closed his eyes as relief flooded through his weary fëa. His twin would not give up on him. Even if he had given up on himself. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair. "Thank you."

 

4.

Some days were better than others. Lord Manwë had taken one look at him and softly told him to go to the Gardens of Lórien, pity and grief in his eyes. So Eönwë went. He was not sure how long he had been here, alternating between wanting to leave, wanting everything to return to normal, but knowing that he could not. That he was too broken. Still needed to heal.

He was sure he was a great trial to those tending to him - Lord Irmo and Ladies Estë and Nienna. His sister. But they dealt with everything with a patience that both surprised and shamed him.

They let him do what he wanted, for the most part. He knew that he had been wallowing too long in self-pity when Ilmarë would come and practically drag him on walks with her, around the tranquil lakes and trees of Lórien, sometimes into Lord Oromë's forests.

And every time he saw his sister, she would remind him of the hope she bore for them both. Hope he did not know quite what to do with. He was still so tired. He seemed to feel curiously lightheaded and his memories would alternately taunt him and leave him alone.

And so time went past.

*****

Ilmarë had come to visit. It was one of his better days. They went walking together through the snow, for it was Winter now. A perfect Winter's day with snow on the ground, not a cloud in the sky, golden light from Arien's vessel making the snow sparkle, the air cold and with the promise of yet more snow to come.

Ilmarë's hand was warm in his own as she led them through the Gardens of Lórien. She seemed to have a particular destination in mind. Eönwë followed her, not speaking, content to enjoy the day and the company of his twin, the only person, he thought sometimes, who could truly understand him, knew him in ways no one else could... Save, perhaps, Laurefindil.

The memories of his beloved pained him, as they always did. But today, somehow, they did not hurt quite so much. He was was able to remember another day, when he had taken Laurefindil up Taniquetil, so he could see the snow. For the Two Trees had still bloomed then and Winter did not touch Valinor, save the peaks of the Pelóri.

Eönwë found himself smiling softly at the memory. Ilmarë's hand squeezed his own and he looked into her soft grey eyes, eyes that were alight with hope and that shone with stars.

"I remember taking Laurefindil to see snow," he spoke quietly, not wishing to taint the precious memory.

Ilmarë's smile deepened, and laughter shone in her eyes now. "He had never seen it before. He was amazed by it."

Eönwë nodded, remembering answering question after question, and the amazement and awe that had been upon Laurefindil's face. He remembered wrapping him in his cloak, not wanting him to become cold. And the almost unnoticed look of wistful hope that had touched his face for a moment.

His memories of Laurefindil were always bittersweet, full of wondering why he had never noticed what they both truly felt for each other.

"They sang songs of him. Every Mid-Summer." He said, surprising even himself. He did not want to remember those days, those seemingly endless Mid-Summers when someone would sing the Lay of Laurefindil's - or Glorfindel's, as he had become called in Arda - Fall. And then they would speak of hope, of how he had won, defeated his foe, though he was clearly outmatched.

Eönwë had not been able to understand how they had found hope, when all he had found was grief.

Ilmarë let go of his hand and embraced him softly. He hugged her back, accepting her comfort.

"They were honoring him and the great deed he did. For if he had not done so... Arda would now be very different." She spoke softly, perhaps afraid of upsetting him further.

But Eönwë just nodded, for he knew that his sister spoke the truth. Laurefindil's sacrifice had ensured that Eärendil had lived. And so he was able to be the Messenger, who had at last come to Valinor, and thus Morgoth was defeated.

And Eärendil's own twin sons had been born, and had already forged great destinies for themselves, for Elros had become the King of Númenor, starting a new dynasty of mortal men, and Elrond, he knew, would become the greatest healer in Arda.

Because of his beloved's sacrifice. Eönwë closed his eyes. It still hurt. But today, for the first time, not so much.

He opened his eyes in wonder, and Ilmarë pulled away from him with a startled gasp. They looked at each other in surprise before his twin smiled at him, the first true smile he had seen from her in a long time, as she cupped his face with a hand.

"Eönwë," her voice was full of wonder and her eyes were alight with joy. "Eönwë, you have found hope again."

He blinked, the feeling almost unfamiliar to him. But his sister was right. He had, even if it was just a small amount.

It was enough. It would have to be.

 

5.

Eönwë did not know how much time had gone past. Sometimes, it felt like he had been here forever, and the War and all the other dark times were but figments of dreams. Other times, he wanted to escape, curious to see what had happened in Valinor while he had been healing.

He was restless. He felt that he could return to Taniquetil and take up his duties at last. But something was keeping him here, in the Gardens of Lórien, something was telling him to stay. Maybe he was not yet as healed as he would like to believe. Though some part of him knew that he would not be fully healed until Laurefindil returned and they could at last speak of their feelings. And never be apart again.

Eönwë was smiling softly, feeling hope warm within his breast as he wandered aimlessly through the Gardens of Lórien one Spring afternoon, bands of golden light falling through the trees, the sound of birds and other small animals fluttering about, and the smell of flowers heavy in the air.

He found himself walking by the side of one of the many lakes in the Gardens; the soft sound of the water lapping the shore was soothing. He looked out, across the lake, taking in the beauty of it, feeling able to do so, now. He had changed, yes. But he had finally come to peace with himself. He no longer looked at his hands and saw them covered with blood. He had hope.

Eönwë resumed his walk along the side of the lake. The path climbed a little, curving into the trees and darkness, before emerging back into the light.

There was someone sitting under a tree, bathed in golden light. He paused, half in, half out of the shadow, for he knew that this was not one of his own kin, the Ainur, but one of the Children, the Eldar. And he had not had any contact with them since the end of the War.

But then the Elf looked up at him, golden hair tumbling over a shoulder and Eönwë gasped.

Laurefindil.

_Laurefindil._

The Elf scrambled to his feet, looking as shocked as he felt. They stared at each other.

He looked beautiful, Eönwë noticed, his eyes and fëa drinking in the sight of his beloved. More beautiful than he remembered. His hair was spun gold in the Spring light, his eyes the blue of midnight, shining with stars.

"E...Eönwë?" The voice trembled, but the sound of his name falling from those lips was one of the most beautiful he had ever heard.

He stepped forward, into the light, blinking away tears. "Laurefindil."

The Elf looked puzzled for a moment, and Eönwë froze, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him, if this was real.

"Laurefindil... that was my name," he said quietly, to himself. Eönwë nodded carefully, but then Laurefindil looked at him again. "Eönwë! It is really you!"

The smile upon his face, the joy... He could not stop himself from taking those last few steps towards him. And then he paused, suddenly uncertain. But Laurefindil, his beloved Laurefindil threw his arms around him in a embrace.

They held each other tightly, tears falling, and Eönwë finally, _finally_, found himself return to peace.

*****

They sat under the tree Laurefindil had been sitting under. He still could not bare to let him go. And Laurefindil seemed content to be in his arms.

"Everyone has called me Glorfindel for so long... I had forgotten that Laurefindil was also my name." His voice was soft, like the lapping of water on the lake side.

Eönwë stroked his hair, the soft strands between his fingers. "I will call you Glorfindel, if you would prefer," he offered, still drunk on joy, willing to do anything that would make his beloved happy. But he just shrugged, seemingly more than content to just lie in his arms. Eönwë had no complaints.

They sat there in silence for most of the afternoon, for he could sense that Laurefindil was in deep thought. And holding him was no hardship, was everything he had yearned for for so long now... He pressed a gentle kiss to his golden hair, his own hair spilling forward, so the silvery white and golden tresses were entwined.

"I can hardly remember anyone," Laurefindil spoke at last, and Eönwë felt alarm creep into his joy. But Laurefindil raised his head so they were looking at each other. "I remember you," he said, and he sounded slightly puzzled.

Eönwë swallowed, unsure what he should say, fearful that he would lose him when they had only just been reunited. "I got your letter," was all he said, at last.

Laurefindil frowned, confusion plain in his eyes, looking away from him and out over the lake, which had grown dark, tracking the movement of a swan upon it. "Oh!" His body stiffened and his head flew back to look at him, eyes wide, a flush staining his face. He looked terribly uncertain.

Eönwë reached out, gently cupping his face with his hands, and the uncertainty and fear slowly transformed into wonder and hope. He leaned forward and very, very softly pressed a kiss to his forehead, before resting their heads together, so that they could gaze into each others eyes.

"I am sorry it took me so long to realize," he murmured. "But if you will have me, I am yours. I always have been. And I always will be."

They were both weeping again and they clung to each other. "Eönwë," his beloved whispered his name. Before very slowly, very gently, kissing him.

*****

Eärendil was high in the heavens. Eönwë still held Laurefindil in his arms, as the Elf slept. They were still sitting under the tree, and had shared sweet, joyful kisses, sprinkled with laughter as the stars came out.

He was holding his beloved in his arms. He had returned to him, at last. And they had finally spoken the truth to each other. He knew he was grinning foolishly, but he could hardly help it. Laurefindil was in his arms.

"Eönwë!"

He blinked, smile faltering slightly as he heard his name hissed, exasperation clear.

"I swear I am going to kill him! Eönwë!"

The voice was louder now, and his grin returned. His heart felt like it was going to burst with joy.

"Where _is_ he - oh." Ilmarë had stepped out of the trees. Her eyes grew wide when she saw them, and first shock, then joy replaced the anger and worry that had been clear on her face. She ran silently to their side, then knelt and very gently brushed a golden strand of hair away from Laurefindil's face.

His twin looked up at him, joyful tears running down her face. "Did I not tell you, brother? That you would be reunited one day?" He nodded and her grin was almost as wide as his own. "Then you will understand from now on that I am always right?" Her grey eyes twinkled with mischief, but he nodded, laughing softly, careful not to disturb Laurefindil. He pressed another soft kiss to his golden hair.

Ilmarë stayed near them, a gentle smile upon her face, making sure they were undisturbed, keeping watch over them both through the night.

 

6.

They had spent many glorious days, weeks, at least a month, just in each others company, talking of times in the past, of dreams of the future.

Sometimes, it would take Laurefindil a little while to remember something, some event or person, though he confessed that while he had been uncertain of so much when he was first reborn, he had always remembered Eönwë's name, even when he had been unsure of his own.

Eönwë found himself glowing, heart overflowing with his love and joy. With each of Laurefindil's embraces, each of his kisses, every loving glance, he found his fëa healing, more happy than he could ever remember, save for the time before he had known evil, when he still dwelled in the Timeless Halls.

Ilmarë would visit them, at times, and then his joy would know no bounds, with his twin on one side and his beloved upon the other.

They should have known it would never last.

*****

They had been walking under the shade of the trees, for it was Summer now; the days were hot and the nights warm. Laurefindil was laughing, seeming to glow under the golden light. Eönwë had caught him in his arms and was kissing him deeply, when he sensed they were no longer alone. He did not break the kiss straight away, for he knew that the person who had joined them was his twin, and she would not object to them ignoring her for a while.

They finally broke the kiss, Laurefindil's face probably just as flushed as his own, before he turned to look at his twin. And Eönwë found his smile fading, and, for the first time since he had been reunited with his beloved, dread entering his heart. For Ilmarë's face was grave; grief and sorrow was in her eyes as she gazed upon them.

He found his hold tightening on Laurefindil. "Ilmarë? What is it? What is wrong?"

Tears shone in her eyes now, that were as grey as a stormy sky. "Lord Manwë wishes to speak to you both," she said softly, and Eönwë felt the dread settle in his heart.

Laurefindil had stepped slightly closer to him, eyes wide. "Are _you_ all right, Ilmarë?" He asked, fear for the two most important people in his life, save the Valar and Eru of course, almost overtaking him.

His twin just looked upon them both, before stepping forward and embracing them, tears now flowing freely down her face.

******

Sauron had arisen again. Another of his failures, for his Fallen Brother had come to him, just after the end of the War, but he had said that he could not judge him, that only the Valar and Eru could. And so Sauron had fled.

Maybe this was punishment. It was amazing, really, how quickly hope and joy could vanish. Laurefindil was clinging to him, weeping. But what could he say in comfort? For the blame of this could be placed at his feet. If he had not...

"It was not your fault." The words were rough with tears, yet somehow still tender, as Laurefindil pulled away from him, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, sniffing a little. "None of this is your fault. How could it be?" His eyes were red, and yet the blue shone clear.

Eönwë shook his head, looking away from him. He was going to leave. Lord Manwë had decreed it. For Laurefindil's - Glorfindel's - _destiny_ in Arda was not yet over.

He wanted to rage - why, _why_, did his beloved have to go back, he had _died_, was that not enough? What about _their_ destiny, their life together, that they had only just started to plan, for they had - he snorted - all the time in the world? But those fragile dreams and hopes were shattered now, forever.

He closed his eyes, despair once more walking at his side.

"Eönwë. _None_ of this is your fault. _Listen_ to me, please." Laurefindil cupped his face with his hands and he opened his eyes, never able to deny his beloved anything. "This is just..." He sighed. "It is just something we are going to have to accept. I do not have to leave straight away."

Eönwë just looked at him for a moment before pulling him into his arms, tangling a hand in his golden hair, wondering how he could be so accepting of this.

"I do not want to go. I do not want to leave you again." He could barely make out the murmured words. He just clung to his beloved all the more, his arms tight about him in turn, not sure what to feel, all the scars upon his fëa being reopened, for hope had fled and not even Laurefindil's presence was enough to help, this time.

Maybe they were destined to be forever apart. Eönwë closed his eyes and clung to his beloved all the more.

 

7.

This was not punishment, they said. It was just what needed to happen. For the good of Arda. Not even Lord Manwë could change it. Eönwë tried not to be bitter over it. But how could he not be? His beloved was going to leave him. Again.

He placed no blame on Laurefindil - none of this was his fault. And he tried, he _tried_ to see it as an honor for him. For Laurefindil would return to Arda an emissary of the Valar. Return to Arda Marred, full of darkness and war and death. And none knew what would happen if an Elf died twice, not even the Lord of Mandos.

He did not want Laurefindil to be hurt again. That was not so wrong, was it?

They spent many days walking now, talking of the future, though this time their plans were very different. For no one knew how long Laurefindil would be, how long his mission would last. It could be a very long time, they were warned.

Eönwë spent much time alone, as well, for Laurefindil had to undergo training by his brother and sister Maiar, and he could not yet - not now - bear to pick up his sword again, not after all his old wounds had been torn open.

They left him alone, as they had before, though he could once more feel Lord Irmo and Ladies Estë and Nienna's silent presences, ready to offer him support, when he needed it. The only ones who interrupted his solitude were Laurefindil and his twin.

Ilmarë would once more drag him out on walks, trying to bring him out of his depression. He knew he was being difficult. Selfish. But his heart felt like it was broken again, all the more cruel for having tasted happiness and then having it snatched away.

It would have been better, he thought one day, if he had never met Laurefindil at all.

Eönwë stopped in surprise and shock at the thought, hardly able to comprehend that he had thought it. Not even in his darkest days before had he thought such a thing. _Never_.

It startled him greatly, and though he tried to ignore it, it weighed upon his mind, until, weeping, he confessed it to Ilmarë, who just held him, soothing him with soft words and song.

But it had become clear now that he could not go on like this. Not anymore.

*****

Laurefindil had returned to him, once more. They had gone walking again, through the woods of Lórien, the light of Tilion's vessel shining down upon them. Mist clung to the lakes, for it was Autumn now.

They walked hand in hand and Eönwë found his heart, his fëa, aching. He needed to speak, but he could not find the words.

"I will not bind you by any oath."

The softly spoken words started him, and he looked at Laurefindil, saw the grief and sorrow, pain and love, and yet acceptance in his eyes.

He smiled, a tiny little sad smile. "You are free, Eönwë. You may expunge me from your mind, from your heart, and be free to love another."

Eönwë stared at Laurefindil, his golden hair turned silver under Tilion's light. He closed his eyes. He had thought that nothing else could hurt, that he was beyond pain. He steeled himself and opened his eyes. "Is that what you wish?" He asked quietly, watching the emotions play across the Elf's face.

Laurefindil squeezed their clasped hands. "I wish only for your happiness."

He took a deep breath, blinking away tears. "And what of your happiness?"

He saw Laurefindil swallow, hard. He tried to smile again. "I will be happy as long as you are. You have been hurt so deeply, Eönwë, by others... By me. You deserve to be happy."

Eönwë stepped forward, pulling Laurefindil into his arms, tangling a hand in his hair, tears now falling. "_You_ make me happy," he whispered, lips brushing against a pointed ear.

The arms around him tightened. "But I have hurt you as well."

He closed his eyes, yet he was somehow smiling. Maybe it was the shock of just how close he had come to losing him, in a way perhaps more painful, more permanent, than death. "Is that not all part of love?"

Laurefindil pulled away slightly, so they could see each others faces, and he took advantage of it to kiss him. His beloved looked at him, slightly startled, once the kiss had broken.

Eönwë cupped his face with his hands. "I love you, Laurefindil. I waited for you once. I will do so again." He tenderly wiped away the tears that had fallen down his face.

"Then I will be true to thee," Laurefindil whispered, eyes bright with tears and hope and love as he said part of the words from the soul binding ceremony.

Eönwë kissed him again, feeling their fëa's reaching out and touching.

They had a difficult road ahead of them. They would be apart for a long, long, time. But they had hope. They had love. They had faith and trust.

They had each other.


End file.
